


Something Like It

by rileywrites



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Emissary Derek Hale, M/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:21:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22132447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rileywrites/pseuds/rileywrites
Summary: When Alan Deaton is reported dead, the Enclave sends Derek to take care of funeral arrangements and solidify the wards of the Beacon Hills territory.Derek doesn't expect their Alpha to be as young, handsome, and genuine as he is.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 10
Kudos: 484





	Something Like It

**Author's Note:**

> Nebulous post-apocalypse is nebulous

Derek feels the wards before they get to the wall, the old magic leaving a rusty taste in his mouth. Stella whines in her cage, objecting to the experience.

"Easy, girl. We're going to fix this." Probably.

The walls are tall, cinder block topped with barbed wire and surrounded by a chain link fence. Derek stops at the main gate, where a blonde woman in a leather jacket is waiting.

"Identify yourself."

"Derek Hale, emissary, sent by Laura and the Pacific Northwest Enclave." Derek hands her his papers and shows the sigil on his arm.

Stella yowls at him.

"Oh, and Stella Hale, familiar, orange cat."

"Cute." The blonde checks her tablet, scans his papers, and hands them back. "Welcome to Beacon Hills. I have instructions to send you right to the main house. There are signs, you can't miss it."

She radios whomever is in charge of the gates, leading him through each set in turn.

"Follow the signs. The Alpha is expecting you."

The Beacon Hills encampment is set up in what must have been a charming little town before the war. Now, it's a bombed-out mess in places, rebuilt in others. They must have decent builders in their group, because more is rebuilt than he would expect.

True to her word, there are signs leading into the center of town to what must be the headquarters - the old governor's mansion. There's another fence, another set of gates, and another paper check before Derek is allowed to drive up.

There's a man waiting on the front steps when Derek steps out of his truck, Stella's case firmly in hand. He's tall, but not taller than Derek, and broad in the shoulders.

To a normal human, he would look unassuming. To a magic user...

"Alpha Stilinski. Thank you for welcoming me into your territory." 

"Thank you for coming. I know the Enclave does not have many people they can spare, and I appreciate how quickly you came."

"We want Deaton laid properly to rest, and you need the wards rebuilt."

"You really shouldn't have traveled alone. There's a war on, you know."

"I know. And I wasn't alone." Derek takes a moment to let Stella out of her carrier, before she decides to blow it up again. "Right, Stella?"

Stella looks at the Alpha with her all-seeing green eyes, sniffs, and starts pointedly licking her fur.

"Okay then. That's is as much of a positive response as you're going to get, I think." 

Stilinski laughs. "I'll take it."

Derek shoulders his bag. "Deaton had an office?"

Stilinski nods. "The basement apartment was his. Half of it is an office, the other half living quarters. We didn't move anything when he passed, because none of us know enough about magic not to blow the place up."

"Lead the way. At the very least, I'll get your wards renewed and his apartment cleaned out, and then we can talk long-term."

Derek follows Stilinski around to the back of the massive house to a ground-floor entry tucked into an alcove under the house. Stilinski waves his hand over a mag-lock receptor, and it clicks open.

"When he was alive, he kept the door bolted the old-fashioned way as well as the mag-lock and the wards, but it's wildly inconvenient to do so with him passed."

"Mag-locks will do for now," Derek says, making a note that he needs to get the appropriate ID. "Be careful, I can feel the pent-up energy."

Deaton's old office is warded to the high heavens, but they welcome the Alpha like an old friend. The magic sizzle-fizzes over Derek's sigil and heat builds between his shoulder-blades before Derek can cross the threshold after him.

"He has this place heavily warded, but they're permeable." Derek shows the alpha his now-glowing sigil. "It recognizes me."

Both as an Enclave member and a Hale, which is fascinating.

"That's fucking convenient, because we weren't sure if it would." Stilinski flips the lights on.

The office is neat and tidy, and filled to the brim with intensely powerful ingredients and tomes. All four walls are lined with locked cabinets with doors of bulletproof glass etched with runes.

The large worktables show evidence of his last projects being stopped mid-process, mixtures and ingredients spread haphazardly across the space.

"We didn't want to touch anything," Stilinski says, gesturing to the mess. "Some of these things have spontaneously combusted in the days since his death."

"They're time-sensitive," Derek explains. "Do you know where Deaton kept the keys to his cabinets?"

Stilinski presses his thumb to a small chest next to the ancient computer and it hisses open. He pulls a large key ring out of it and tosses it to Derek.

Stella catches it in her teeth before it even gets close, carrying it to Derek with a proud glint in her eyes.

"Yes, thank you, show-off. Go do something productive, won't you?"

Derek checks the numbered keys to the number of cabinets. Deaton was a paranoid coot, but he was also intensely organized.

(Then again, is it paranoia if the thing you're afraid of eventually kills you?)

"They're all here. To be honest, the office can probably wait for now. Let's check his apartment."

His apartment is similar, if cozier. Tidy, warm, simmering with magic going stale.

"I'll pack his things and send them back to the Enclave by the end of the week," Derek promises. "Is the furniture his?"

"No, it's original to the house from before the war. I believe his armchair and the chest by his bed are his, but the rest will stay for-- well, you, if it works out. If not, the next Emissary the Enclave can spare."

"We'd better hope I work out. The latest attack on Francisco Nuevo has caused a major drop in Enclave numbers."

"I heard about your parents," Stilinski says quietly. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"We all have many reasons to mourn."

Deaton's bedroom is the safest room in the district, the wards almost burning over him as Derek walks through the door.

The first step after putting Deaton to rest will be unwarding and rewarding the main house, and he'll go from there.

He tells Stilinski as much when he returns to the main living space.

"He's in the morgue. The High Emissary said not to embalm him or attempt our own burial rights, so we wanted him to be ready for you."

"You did the right thing. I will go to him directly. If I give you directions, can you have your people erect a funeral pyre?"

Derek isn't a fan of flames, not after everything, but Deaton's soul will not rest without it.

"I have a few people I can spare, yes, and I've the rest of the day to help you."

Derek takes his time with Deaton's body, washing him reverently and filling his wounds with herbs and flowers to bring honor to his sacrifice. He murmurs prayers over him, the words coming too easily after a lifetime of war.

Melissa, the town's doctor, helps him to move Deaton to a gurney to transport him to the field Stilinski has designated as the safest place for a pyre.

The pack does the honors of laying him on the pyre and building up the wood around him. Derek steps forward to finish the ceremony.

"Go with the Goddess, brother." Derek anoints his body with oil. "May peace be all you know."

He steps back and nods to the pack member holding the blowtorch - Boyd, was it? - who lights the pyre in several places. Derek doesn't look away as the fire grows, but he does step back as far as he can within the circle.

As Deaton burns, Stilinski howls mournfully, joined quickly by the other pack members both in the circle and around the territory.

They all mourn in their own way.

Eventually, the pack members return to their rotations or to their homes, leaving Derek and the alpha to hold vigil. Even with the accelerants, it will take six hours to burn completely.

Stilinski brings Derek a chair from the porch of the main house.

"Sit. You can still keep watch without wearying yourself."

Derek sits, and Stella leaps into his lap.

"Thank you," he says, both to the Alpha and to the being anchoring his legs. "I don't... I'm not a fan of fire."

"Understandable." Stilinski brings a chair down for himself and sits beside Derek, the end of the hose easily accessible just in case. "Six hours, you said?"

"Give or take."

Derek doesn't expect Stilinski to stay the whole night, but the man surprises him.

When dawn breaks, the fire is out and Stilinski is still outside.

"What now?"

Derek checks to be sure the fire is truly out before approaching the ashes.

"We bury his bones. I trust you have a cemetery?"

"Yes, but... we have a place for him that might be more appropriate. Do you need help?"

"I've got it."

Derek carefully sorts through the ash to gather Deaton's bones into a linen bag. All 200 or so bones embedded in ash take a while to find, but Derek refuses to leave any part of the man behind.

When he's satisfied that he's gotten everything, he returns to Stilinski's side. He diplomatically ignores the tear-stained redness of Stilinski's face.

"Where are we burying him?"

"We're taking him to the Nemeton." Stilinski squares his shoulders. "It's in a contested part of the territory, so you'll need to prepare. I'll get the Jeep while you armor up."

"I have what I need in the car, so I'll meet you in front of headquarters."

Deaton's remains go securely into his backpack, and Stella jumps up on his shoulder, the lazy beast.

"You realize you'll have to get down as soon as I get back to the Land Rover, right?"

She doesn't deign to respond.

Derek sets her on the hood of the car and pulls on his bulletproof vest and warded leather jacket. He doesn't like guns, but he holsters one just in case.

Stilinski's Jeep is clad in armor, the make-shift welding of a hastily-modified vehicle.

"Hop in." Stilinski opens the door, and Stella hops in first. "Okay hi, Ms. Stella, thank you for joining us."

The ride out to the Nemeton means leaving the heart of the complex and heading North. Derek can feel the pull in his soul, his Enclave rune buzzing.

"I've got Boyd and Isaac running interference, and there hasn't been any action out here in a while, but I couldn't risk it. Not for this."

They're still in Stilinski's territory, but the wards are thinner out here. Derek makes a note to focus on this area when re-warding everything.

The Nemeton is beautiful, a new tree growing out of the roots of the one damaged in the old days of the war.

"Your pack is strong, to have allowed this much growth."

"We do our best. Deaton did a lot to help it." Stilinski parks the Jeep. "Let me do a loop around the clearing before you get out."

Derek isn't helpless, but he appreciates the gesture.

They dig a grave at the base of the Nemeton, finding a place for Deaton between two large roots.

"Thank you for everything you've done, friend. You can rest." Derek gently lowers the bundle into the earth, and Stilinski covers it over.

"I have something to mark the spot." He pulls a young plant out of the back of the Jeep. "It's from a cutting of the one at the house."

Blue elder in its infancy. Perfect.

They plant it, taking care to give it space at the base of the tree.

Derek prays over the grave site.

The ride back to headquarters is quiet.

"I should let you get some rest before you meet the pack," Stilinski says, unlocking Deaton's apartment and handing Derek a key card. "You have the free run of the place, but please take someone with you if you go outside of the second fence."

"For now, I'm just going to sleep." Derek turns to go inside, then turns back. "Thank you, Alpha Stilinski."

"Call me Stiles, please."

"Stiles, then. Thank you."

Derek airs out the apartment and changes the bedding before he's comfortable enough to try and sleep. Stella curls up on his chest, guarding him and snuggling all in one.

He dreams of fire and wounded brown skin.

...

Six months later

...

When Derek figures out who gave the Alpha Pack rocket launchers, he will revel in seeing Stiles eviscerate them.

He's currently huddled in a bunker in the outer ring, warding the doors to help keep it secure. There are six people with him, four of them children, and most of them are human. He's all they've got.

They've been under direct attack for over a week now, taking heavy losses in the outer ring before they managed to evacuate most of the citizens into the center of town.

Derek is barely holding it together, but they're counting on him.

"I want to help," tiny little Tori McCall says, shouldering past her friends. "I can help."

She had been at a friend's house when the siege started, her parents worried sick. Derek is just glad he found her at this point.

Derek holds out his hand, and she takes it. Magic flows between them, and he gasps.

"You've got the spark."

How has he not noticed? The daughter of two of Stiles' best soldiers is also magical.

Tori looks bashful but determined. "Let me help, Mr. Derek."

"Okay. Okay, we're going to share the ward. You've got enough natural power to strengthen mine. I need you to put your hand on the door next to mine."

She does, her thumb touching his. She clutches his other hand.

"I'm going to teach you some intro magic, okay? It's called intention. You have to believe the door can't be broken. Believe as hard as you can, okay?"

Her brow furrows in concentration, and Derek can feel the wards pulse stronger.

"That's it! You've got it. Now, hold that belief. We can keep us safe."

That's how Stiles finds them when he opens the bunker, hand in hand and magic flowing freely.

"We've secured the territory," he announces. "Your wards held. The town is safe again."

Derek passes out.

Holding together an entire town along with a shelter under attack will do that to you.

He wakes to the gentle sway of someone carrying him, his head on a strong shoulder. It only takes a moment to recognize whose.

"Hey, sleeping beauty, we're almost home," Stiles rumbles.

Home. That sounds nice.

Derek would protest the treatment, but he's too exhausted to bother. It's nice to be carried every once in a while.

Stiles unlocks Derek's apartment and gently sets him on the bench at the foot of the bed.

"You should probably shower before you go to sleep. You're covered in blood and grime." Stiles goes rummaging through the cupboards. "Got any of that Pepper Up potion floating around here? I think you hit your head when you passed out."

"Stop giving my recipes Harry Potter names," Derek protests without heat. "And yes, in the workshop where those things belong. Cabinet B, second shelf down."

He slowly undresses, feeling the aches in his body flare and recede with each movement. By the time Stiles returns with a vial of revitalization serum, he's down to his underwear.

"Here it is. Hopefully it will fix your mild concussion. If not, I'm making you see Melissa."

"I can heal myself." Derek downs the contents of the vial, pretending not to notice Stiles' eyes on him.

"You're still going to go see Melissa. Alpha's orders."

"I wasn't even hurt during the battle. All that blood belonged to other people." Derek hands the vial back to Stiles. "Now, are you going to let me shower in peace?"

"I think I'll stay right here, in case you slip in the shower. Boys and Scott have a handle on things outside. I'm taking the day off."

"Probably a good idea, since you've been commanding the forces for three days straight now."

If Derek doesn't close the bathroom door all the way before he drops his boxer briefs, that's his business.

By the time he returns to his room, Stiles is sound asleep, sprawled across the foot of Derek's bed. Derek shoves and pulls him into place so he can share the bed properly.

The idea that an alpha werewolf trusts him enough to sleep through this is a heady feeling.

Derek falls asleep curled on his side, careful not to touch too much of the man beside him.

He wakes to Stiles spooning him. The man grumbles when he attempts to pull away, and Derek knows better than to wake a sleeping werewolf. So he settles in again, content to sleep warm and safe and secure in Stiles' arms.

The next time he wakes, Stiles is nowhere to be found. No note, nothing.

Derek shoves the sting aside. He has work to do, wards to strengthen, and - apparently - an apprentice to train.

He doesn't get a chance to talk to Stiles until the pack meeting two days after the Alpha invasion, to busy with funeral rites and healings and patching the wards. Tori is an eager helper, not even nine yet but bubbling with potential.

"You know, my spark didn't show until I was thirteen," he tells her. "You're going to be very powerful when you grow up. I've already talked to my sister about you."

"You told Ms. Laura the Enclave leader?! About me?! "

"Of course I did. You're special." Derek scoops her into a giggly hug, ignoring the twinge in his worsening elbow and the look in Stiles' eyes across the circle. "Now come on, we've got to pay attention."

They discuss losses, changes in the guard rotation, the plan for rebuilding the outer walls where the Alphas broke through. Stiles announces the new date for Malia and Kira's upcoming wedding, pushed back due to the chaos.

Derek marvels at how entwined he's become in six short months. How the kids have all but claimed him, how he's already invited to the wedding, how... how soundly Stiles slept in his bed.

Stiles asks him to stay after the meeting, waiting to join him until everyone has dispersed.

"I'm sorry."

Derek doesn't know what he was expecting Stiles to say, but it wasn't that.

"I'm sorry that I invaded your space, and I'm sorry that I crossed your boundaries in my sleep, and I'm sorry that I've possibly ruined everything already, and-"

"Stop."

He does, mouth snapping shut.

"You didn't. You stayed because I needed you, you slept because you were exhausted, and you cuddled me in your sleep because you needed the affection. Nothing happened that would ruin anything, okay? Just... breathe."

Stiles doesn't say anything, floundering for a response.

Sometimes Derek forgets just how young the alpha is. War makes everyone seem older.

"You're fine. It's fine." Then, softer, "it's the best I've slept in years."

Stiles' eyes snap to his. Like this, open, vulnerable, he looks so fucking human.

So to speak.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Okay, that's... that's both sad and great, you know?"

"I know. My life is complicated."

"Right. Right, so... touching is okay?"

Derek crosses the living room to take Stiles' hands. "Touching is great. You can even kiss me, if you want?"

"You're the best thing that's happened to this pack in a long time. I don't want to fuck it up."

"You won't." A cold chill hits him, and he drops Stiles' hands. "Unless you don't want me and my invitation is unwelcome and I should just go and forget this ever happened or-"

Stiles cuts him off with a kiss.

"I'm the rambling anxious one, here," he teases. "Don't go taking my job."

"Then keep kissing me and I'll stop rambling."

"Deal."

...

One year later

...

It's not peace.

With the world the way it is, it can't be. But fuck if it doesn't feel like peace.

They're celebrating the harvest, the hard work that is finally paying off for the year. Derek, Tori, and several of the others have been spending days preparing and picking and preserving, stocking the root cellars with supplies.

They can never be sure when the next shipment will come in. This way, there's always enough to last them through a siege.

Besides the food, Derek and Tori have been working to replenish Deaton's stores of herbs and seeds. His little apprentice has grown so much in the past year, both in stature and in wisdom.

"Derek, come on! We've got to finish the mulled cider so it's ready for dinner!" She tugs him out of the workshop. "Come on!"

The ground floor of headquarters is covered in people setting up extra tables and chairs. Derek slides through the crowd to the huge kitchen. Tori opens the huge pot of cider.

"Did you bring the nutmeg?"

Derek hands her the nutmeg and the micro-plane. "Go crazy, kiddo."

He senses the alpha before he feels his arm around his waist.

"This smells amazing." Stiles kisses his temple. "I'm glad Tori got you out of the workshop."

"I would have come upstairs eventually." Derek leans into his embrace. "I was reading."

"You're always reading."

"How else am I supposed to learn? I want to be the best emissary I can be."

Stiles holds him tighter. "You're the best emissary an alpha could ask for."

"You're just saying that to butter me up."

"Is it working?"

They're interrupted by Erica shoving a platter at them.

"Make yourself useful, alpha dear," she drawls. "This needs to go on the buffet table."

"Sir yes sir." Stiles kisses Derek briefly. "I shall return."

The whole building is bubbling with warmth, pack bonds and wards singing happily. Sometimes, Derek wishes he wasn't the only one who can hear them.

Dinner is a loud, chaotic, homey mess, with kids running back and forth between tables, adults trading seats and drinks and stories, and a single quiet pocket of calm in Stiles' study.

That's where Derek finds himself when he gets overwhelmed, tucked into the big armchair by the fireplace. Stiles joins him, sound from outside getting louder and then soft again as the door opens and closes.

"Too much?"

"In a good way." Loud crowds can be exhausting when you're tied into them the way Derek is. "Quieter in here."

Stiles sits on a cushion at his feet, and Derek plays with his hair.

"You need a haircut," Derek observes.

"Marry me," Stiles says abruptly.

Derek's brain logs off and back on.

"Now?"

"If you want." Stiles turns so he's kneeling. "Now, later, whenever makes you happy. Just... please, marry me. Stay."

"I... okay. Okay, that's... yes."

"Yes?" Stiles leans up, eyes burning with happiness and aura flaring gold and pink. "You'll marry me?"

"As soon as Laura can get here to officiate, I will marry you."

Stiles stands and scoops Derek into a happy hug, swinging him in his enthusiasm. He carries him into the hallway.

"He said yes!"

The entire building lights up with cheers and happy howls, even Stella joining in on the fun, leaving Derek with his blushing face tucked against Stiles' shoulder.

It's not peace. But it's something like it. And that's enough for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year or whatever.


End file.
